Face to Face (The Deverell Series Book 2) (30 page)

Varian’s gaze dissected her face in a fast moving glance and he growled, “When will you cease in your willful disobedience of my orders?”

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, reminding herself of Mr. Seton’s frantic warning. Merry carefully averted her face by staring into Varian’s chest.

His brisk strides carried them away from Mr. Seton.

“Don’t disobey me again. I have never ordered once in a manner intended only to be high handed. I cannot keep you safe if you will not let me. Don’t make me watch you die out of stubbornness.”

Staring up at Varian’s face, her response was the urging of a loving heart fully distressed over the worry she’d caused him. The tears erupted in loud, choking spurts she couldn’t stop, which made wet his shirt front and harsh rivers on her cheeks.

“I’m sorry,” was all she managed before the vat of her emotions ripped wide, the entirety of the day’s events—from her worry over Indy, to her fearful moments with Rensdale, to the long hours in the dark afraid, to this moment now with a clearly enraged Varian— it all streamed from her body in uncheckable torrents.

By the time they reached the road to the inn, Merry’s anguished outpouring of emotion frightened him and made him regret having been so harsh with her. He sensed there was much he did not know about Merry’s ordeal. He wondered what Mr. Seton had withheld from him, only adding to his internally contained alarm. He felt a pressing necessity to discover in minute detail what had happened to her, yet he could not bring himself to force his questions upon her.

He looked down at Merry curled against his chest. She was too distraught to even meet his gaze. Varian couldn’t imagine what his expression bespoke, but the few people they passed scattered when they saw him. He could feel the quick rise and fall of her shallow breathing, and realized the fast beat against his flesh was his own heart.

He knew too well what could become of a woman unprotected in this part of the world. Hideous visions filled his mind, and he wondered if she’d been harmed, hated knowing he hadn’t protected her, and the awful wait to probe the unknown further. He couldn’t do it now. Whatever containment he had would be gone.

The inn was stifling and loud when they entered. He could feel the heavy weight of stares and continued to his chamber. Even amid the deafening chorus of sound from the taproom, he could still hear her near soundless sobs and breathy words. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry…” It was all she seemed able to say and almost as though she couldn’t stop it, over and over she apologized, until they were alone in his room. He kept her in his arms, but turned her so he could see her face fully.

“Did someone hurt you?” Varian said his voice a ragged mixture of worry and fury.

She knew he was asking about something more serious than the rip of her dress. A horrible image rose in her mind of Rensdale mauling her. Keeping careful mind of Mr. Seton’s instructions, she whispered, “No. You found me before anyone could harm me worse.”

A shudder moved through the rock-like arms holding her and his eyes gaze became even fiercer. Emotion was flashing unchecked in the dark depths of his eyes.

“Damn you, Merry. Why would you do such a foolish thing?”

The tension on the chiseled lines of Varian’s face warned her to be cautious. On a weak whisper, she said, “I’m sorry.” Her hand trembled as she lifted it to his cheek. She offered him a kiss, not knowing what words would soothe him. Whatever was in him was powerful and frightening.

It was an act of instinct propelled by aching fear. Varian laid her on the bed. She was tired and afraid, her flesh nearly limp beneath his fingers, and the unnatural exhaustion of her quiet muscles only propelled him further into disarray. His need raging inside him was wrong, yet he couldn’t find the will stop himself. She needed his comfort, reassurance and gentleness. But Varian desperately needed to feel the burning presence of life in her flesh.

He was undressing her, his mouth hovering just above hers and she stared at him with wide doe-eyes anxious and confused. He began to kiss her, long passionate kisses, while he continued the removal of her garments. He held her face between his hands and his eyes were burning black embers. “You could have died tonight,” he said, continuing with his task. “If you want to go back to Falmouth I will take you. But don’t die out of stubbornness.”

She sat up, her half naked body a breath from him, her heart in her throat, her feelings in her eyes. “I don’t want to go to Falmouth.” It was the truth. It gave an added ferventness to her expression.

Varian gently pushed her back against the bed. Merry felt him kiss her legs, her thighs, her stomach and between her legs. Then all of her senses were alive and claimed only by him, and she could feel the raging current of emotion in him, pulsing madly through his flesh. Then there was searing flame wherever he touched and no thought. She was aware of only his need, his want, and this strange intensity she felt inside of him.

She closed her eyes, a little ashamed, as his mouth was tasting her. He was whispering things that should have melted her with mortification. Her climax came, a violent release and his body was not even inside her. When he entered her, she was soft and wet and welcoming. She wrapped her arms and legs around him, pulling him tightly against her flesh. Then there was nothing but Varian’s passion and his want and his fury.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

When Merry woke the next morning, she was alone and naked in the bed. Exhaustion had pulled her into slumber, not want of sleep. Varian had not been his usual controlled self in his passion last night. His lovemaking had been a fury. He had done shameful things to her, and she had reveled in it. She had fallen asleep atop him, his arms a possessive circle around her form, his manhood still buried within her.

She had been enraptured feeling his flesh buried inside her at the moment of his release, then afterward in the contentment of their bodies languid, knotted, and at peace. Why did he not make love to her like that always?

He had been so angry, more so than she had ever witnessed before. So little of his fury had shown on his face; it had definitely shown in his flesh.

She sat up in bed and found a woman sitting in a chair. Merry wrapped the blankets more tightly around her and stared.

“I’m Mrs. White, Your Grace,” said her stout companion. “His Grace fetched me to help you bath and dress.”

Merry took in a deep breath.
His Grace?
Why did Mrs. White call Varian that, how did he manage such a grandiose fiction, and why had he left her this morning? Carefully Merry asked, “Where is…” she didn’t know what to call Varian. She didn’t know what this very proper centurion of a woman knew about her. She didn’t know why Mrs. White was here and what to make of her morning.

Seeing her blush, Mrs. White’s manner softened at once. “His Grace had business to attend this morning. He didn’t want you waking alone after your ordeal last night.” She moved to pick up a delicate silk robe Merry had never seen before and held it open. “There is too much riffraff under foot these days, if you ask me. The streets are not safe for a decent woman at night. It broke my heart, it did, to see His Grace carry you through the lobby last night.”

Merry could feel the blush starting to burn her neck and cheeks. If Mrs. White thought anything of finding her naked in Varian’s bed, it didn’t show on her matronly face. It surprised Merry how effortlessly the lie fell from her lips. “When will my husband return?”

The older woman smiled, wrapping the robe tightly around her, before guiding her toward the dressing table. She began to brush Merry’s hair, and said, “When you finish bathing and dressing, you are to join His Grace below for breakfast.”

There was a knock on the door, Merry startled, but Mrs. White only gently patted her taut shoulder as she bade the girls to enter. Once the serving girls had completed preparing a bath, the elderly woman in gray silk shooed them away and helped Merry into the tub.

Mrs. White had an immensely soothing way about her. As the older woman carefully washed her, she gaily chattered in sweet and comforting tones. “What a fine figure of a man, His Grace is. So handsome and strong. We were all worried, we were, when you came up missing. But I knew His Grace would find you before you came to any harm. What a beauty you are. No wonder His Grace was in such a fury last night.”

Laying her head back against the rim of the tub, Merry tried to relax beneath the patient working of the woman’s hands. It would do no good to let this woman know her assumptions were wrong, that she wasn’t Varian’s wife, and whatever fiction Varian had related was merely a ruse.

Mrs. White babbled on happily and Merry corrected her not once. It was better this way, she told herself, as she climbed from the tub, was patted dry and quickly dressed in a cameo satin gown. It was new, Varian must have purchased it while ashore, an elegant garment with the Spanish sleeves with crystal beads artfully arrange in the shape of flowers on the slashes.

Seated before the full length mirror, she watched as Mrs. White carefully plaited satin ribbons into her hair. In no time at all, she had transformed Merry into the proper image of a lady. She stared at her reflection in the mirror. A lady…not the mistress of a man of notorious legend, but a woman who suited to perfection the lie Varian managed so well.

The older woman was enjoying herself immensely. “We will show off our innocence, Your Grace. Just a touch of glow here and there to add innocence to the rose. His Grace will be enchanted and not reminded of the worry you caused him.”

Once Mrs. White finished, Merry thanked her, excused her, and went to find Varian. The upper halls and stairs were narrow and straight, but the inn was crowded, and she was greeted by fast and proper curtsies as she made her way to the dining room. The people around her were strangers, but for some strange reason they were aware of the lie Mrs. White swallowed without question. They treated her with the dignity of such lofty rank, and quickly eased from her path as she made her way to the dining chamber.

Varian was already eating when Merry crossed the breakfast room. At the sight of him, her heart began to beat in bass. His image was so elegantly proper and handsome, it was little wonder no one suspected the lie to be untrue. He was a man who could have ascended to any height in life. She loved him as he was.

He rose to greet her, and a flush appeared on her cheeks as he seemed to examine her face, the skillful allurements of her gown, and the flattering arrangement of her hair. She thought of their past night and her breath caught as she slipped into the chair he held for her.

Merry thought of how it felt to have him kissing her body, how it felt to have him inside of her, about how she’d wrapped her legs and arms around him, whispering her love and urging him onward. He had whispered and done shameful things to her, and she had been as wanton as he had been demanding.

She shivered as he took her hand, watching as he lifted it open palm to his mouth to kiss it.

“I don’t know why I tolerate you,” she said aloud, though her thoughts were very different.

His gaze was glowing as it fixed on her face. “I don’t know why you tolerate me either. Why do you?”

Because I love you.
“Because I don’t seem to have much of a choice in the matter.”

The serving girl came with Merry’s breakfast plate.

Varian waited for the maid to depart. Then, he asked, “Is that what yesterday was about? Having a choice? Is that why you would dare something so dangerous and foolish?”

His voice was intense. His eyes were not. They were patient and probing. Merry tensed. Last night he may have been content with their lovemaking, but today he was not, no matter what prosaic wash he put on his inquiries. How could she explain her ordeal without telling him about Rensdale? She decided there was no way and instead focused on her food.

He watched her in silence and to her surprise did not press further with his questions. After a long while, he voice came to her, a husky breath. “If I hurt you…”

He didn’t finish. The serving girl had returned. Merry stared into her tea cup. She felt the burn of his eyes upon her. Once they were alone again, she looked up, her face half sideways, and her eyes unknowingly seductive. "No, you were right to be angry…” she began slowly.

Merry could see somehow she had amused him. He cut her off quickly, his black eyes shimmering. “No, my dear. Did I hurt you with my passion?”

She looked at him then. The expression in his eyes made her heart turn over inside of her. She felt the flush run down her cheeks across her neck. Her laughter came, gentle, airy and pleasant. She could not stop it, any more than she could stop her love for this man or the blush she felt rising hotter on her cheeks. On a mirth-filled whisper she said, “I am not made of glass, you insufferable man.”

She felt the smile in Varian before the barest glimmer of it softened his face. He took her fingers in the lightest of holds and touched their tips to his lips. She felt his touch run through her as strongly as it had last night during their coupling, that passion that had been so unlike himself. The gentle clasp of his fingers was feather light, but the feel of him was racing through her like a raging fire.

“Don’t run away from me again.” Something in his tone sobered her. Tolerant and affectionate he may be on the surface; tolerant and affectionate he was not. “I could not bear if harm came to you.”

Merry’s throat tightened. She could feel something powerful struggling just under the composure he maintained. “I wasn’t running from you. Haven’t I already committed to staying with you?”

“Have you?” he asked gently.

Varian rose and she could hear the stretch of well-knit muscles against fabric. She stared up at him, confused. He settled the bill, and without looking back at her left the tavern. Flabbergasted, Merry sat at the table and stared at his vacant chair. Around her, the sound of silverware and rattling plates hummed through her questioning thoughts.

She felt the rise of her temper and didn’t know why. Why had he left her without a word? Would she ever understand this man?